Synopsis

Princess Esofi of Rhodia and Crown Prince Albion of Ieflaria have been betrothed since they were children but have never met. At age seventeen, Esofi’s journey to Ieflaria is not for the wedding she always expected but instead to offer condolences on the death of her would-be husband.

But Ieflaria is desperately in need of help from Rhodia for their dragon problem, so Esofi is offered a new betrothal to Prince Albion’s younger sister, the new Crown Princess Adale. But Adale has no plans of taking the throne, leaving Esofi with more to battle than fire-breathing beasts.

Excerpt

The castle at Birsgen had been built
from cold gray stone, but the rooms within were warm and bright. Intricate
tapestries and carpets in rich shades of crimson, emerald, and sapphire
decorated the throne room, and a roaring fire at the far end of the room kept
the worst of the chill that dwelled in the ancient stone at bay.

Princess Esofi of Rhodia sank into a
curtsy, her elaborate skirts rustling softly in the silence. Before her were
the velvet thrones of King Dietrich and Queen Saski of Ieflaria. Just behind
her were the waiting ladies and battlemages who had accompanied her on the
four-month journey to a land that would be her new home.

With Esofi’s entire retinue crowded
inside, the throne room was not nearly as expansive as it ought to be. To make
things even more uncomfortable, many of the residents of the Ieflarian court
had gathered for the arrival of the princess, filling the room further.

Most of the Ieflarians Esofi had seen so
far were dark-haired and fair-skinned with eyes of blue or gray, though in the
larger cities she had encountered people who were clearly from far-off lands
like Anora and Masim. The women usually wore their hair in braids, with younger
girls allowing them to hang free and older women pinning them into coronets or
coils. Esofi wished that she could take in their faces and study their
reactions to her presence. But she knew she had to trust her ladies to do that
for her while she devoted her attention to the regents.

“We welcome you to Ieflaria during this
sad time,” said King Dietrich. “We regret that your arrival has been under such
unfortunate circumstances.”

Esofi swallowed. Every Ieflarian they’d
encountered since coming into the country had been dressed in gray or black or
somber lavender. The queen herself was in a plain gray gown with only the
simplest pearl circlet on her head, and the king wore a black velvet jacket
over a gray tunic and breeches. Even the guards and servants wore black,
instead of the crimson-and-gold livery that her books and tutors had told her
to expect.

Esofi had worn her simplest dress out of
respect, and her ladies had done the same. But Rhodian fashion was dramatically
more opulent than the clothing found in Ieflaria, featuring lace accessories,
layers of ruffled underskirts, and fabrics sewn with gemstones. Even the most
subdued ensemble seemed disrespectfully lavish compared to the simple styles
favored by the Ieflarians.

“Yes,” said Esofi. “I am deeply sorry.”

Three months. Crown Prince Albion,
Esofi’s husband-to-be and heir to the throne of Ieflaria, had been dead for
three months. Esofi had never met him, but they’d been exchanging letters since
they were old enough to write. The loss still felt unreal, as though it were
all a terrible joke.

“We are no longer able to uphold the
contract that was signed fifteen years ago,” said Queen Saski. “You have the
right to return home if you choose.”

She was wrong. Esofi could no more
return home than she could transform into a bird and fly away.

“Your Majesties,” Esofi said. “Your
lands have suffered greatly from dragon attacks in past years and will only
continue to suffer if action is not taken. As the future queen, it was my
intention to begin securing Ieflaria’s borders immediately. To this end, I have
brought with me a company of the finest battlemages that the University of Rho
Dianae has to offer.” She gestured to the back of the room where fifty mages
stood in the midnight-blue robes that marked them as fully trained battlemages
blessed by Talcia, Goddess of Magic. “But I believe this can still be accomplished,
even now. I remain willing to marry your heir…your new heir.”

King Dietrich and Queen Saski both
looked relieved, as if they had expected Esofi to pick up her skirts and
flounce all the way back to Rho Dianae.

“For the sake of honoring the spirit of
our agreement and protecting our homeland,” said King Dietrich, “we are willing
to grant you this.”

Even though it had been her proposal,
Esofi felt a soft pang in her heart at the words. Albion would have been
gentle. Albion would have been kind. She had always considered herself lucky
that her betrothed seemed to be noble in manner as well as blood and so near to
her own age. Esofi had seen enough violent lords and vicious ladies to know
that Iolar had smiled upon her when her parents had arranged her fate.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Esofi.
“I think my parents would have little reason to object if the terms of the
marriage were otherwise unchanged.”

“Then in three days, we will formalize
the new agreement.” King Dietrich gestured to a servant who came hurrying to
his side. Esofi could not hear what the king said to him, but the servant
rushed from the room immediately.

Esofi tried to remember who exactly the
heir to Ieflaria’s throne was now that Albion was gone. Surely, someone had
told her at some point. The winged courier who had brought the news of Albion’s
death might have mentioned it. But Esofi’s grief-stricken mind offered no names.
Her gaze found the statue of Iolar, Fourth of the Ten, where it loomed behind
Their Majesties’ thrones. She offered up a rapid prayer to him.

“We have prepared rooms for you,” said
Queen Saski. “The servants will lead you to them. If they are not to your
liking, you may arrange them however you wish.” Her smile was warm and possibly
even genuine.

“Thank you,” said Esofi with another
curtsy. “The journey has been long. It will be good to rest in a proper bed
again.”

“You will have plenty of time to recover
from your journey,” said Queen Saski. “We cannot begin wedding arrangements
until one hundred days of mourning have passed. Tomorrow, you will join me for
tea and meet my daughter, the Crown Princess Adale.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” began Esofi.
“I…” But the rest of her words died in her throat as her mind caught up with
her ears. Princess Adale. She had heard that name before. She was Albion’s
younger sister and the only other child of King Dietrich and Queen Saski.
Albion had mentioned her in his letters, spinning tales of their adventures and
mischief.

But…a princess? Like most people, Esofi
did not have a strong preference regarding the gender of the one she married.
But marrying the same sex was a privilege that royalty was seldom able to
indulge in, since the production of heirs usually took priority over all else.
Two women could still manage it if one of them could hold a Changed shape long
enough, but men had to be content with surrogates. Most of the nobility back
home did not care to take such risks with their bloodlines. Perhaps it was
different in Ieflaria. Or perhaps Their Majesties were merely desperate.

Fortunately, Queen Gaelle of Rhodia had
instilled iron willpower in her children, and so Esofi was able to successfully
fight back her urge to turn around and look to her ladies for their reactions.
She realized the king and queen were still waiting for her to finish her
sentence.

“I…think that will be lovely,” she
completed. Then she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead as delicately
as she could manage. “Goodness, how the journey has wearied me.”

“Then go, rest,” said Queen Saski. “We
will speak again tomorrow.”

Dismissed at last, Esofi gave one last
curtsy before turning and leading the procession from the room. Once they were
out in the halls, Captain Henris approached her. He wore the same midnight
robes as the other battlemages, but his were trimmed in silver embroidery.
Captain Henris was not a young man any longer but had served Esofi well during
the long journey, and she found that she trusted him implicitly.

“Your orders, Princess?” he asked.

“You may send the mages to the
barracks,” Esofi said. “Tell them that I thank them for their service. And find
me tomorrow morning, before I meet with Her Majesty.”

“Of course, Princess,” he said.

With the departure of the mages, the
hall became significantly less crowded. Esofi turned her attention to her
ladies. There were three of them, and all had come with her by choice. The
first was Lady Lexandrie, the second daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Fialia
and Esofi’s second cousin, who had been her waiting lady since they were
thirteen. She was a tall woman with a cascade of golden hair and a regal
demeanor. If Lexandrie had any faults, the foremost one was stubbornness, followed
closely by an innate belief that no person in the world had ever worked as hard
or suffered as desperately as she had in her eighteen years of life at the
marble palace of Rho Dianae.

Next was Lady Mireille, daughter of the
Baron and Baroness of Aelora. With six older siblings, her prospects in Rhodia
had not been high—but her ambitions were. Esofi was still not entirely certain
how the young woman had managed to win herself a place on the royal procession,
but that didn’t matter now. Mireille’s traveling papers had proclaimed that she
was sixteen years old, but her youthful face could have passed for twelve.

Mireille’s presence had been welcome on
the long journey. She was a bright, cheerful young woman, desperately eager to
please and only occasionally prone to simpering. She would rush eagerly to
complete any task Esofi set them to, and Lexandrie was always happy to let her
work in solitude until the assignment was minutes from being complete.

In some small way, Esofi felt that she
and Mireille had a sort of kinship between them. While Lexandrie was certain to
return to Rhodia someday, Mireille and Esofi never would. There was nothing
left for them back there. Ieflaria would become their world now.

And last was Lady Lisette of Diativa,
who was in actuality not a Lady, nor of Diativa, nor even named Lisette. She
was a tiny woman with black eyes and hair the color of moonlight who could go
days at a time without uttering a word. Esofi did not know for certain how many
blades, lockpicks, and poisons Lisette had on her person, but she felt quite
sure that the number was absurdly high. She was an unnerving girl until one
became accustomed to her, but Esofi’s mother had insisted upon her presence in
the royal carriage.

“Such a lovely welcome,” said Lexandrie
in a bright and vapid tone. “Didn’t you think so, Princess?”

“Yes, of course,” said Esofi in an
equally cheerful tone—she knew perfectly well that there could be any number of
people listening in, waiting for some word against the co-regents or a sign of
weakness. The fact that they spoke in the language of Rhodia was no protection
against that. “I will be glad to rest my feet at last, though, and for a cup of
tea.”

“Princess Esofi,” said a woman, emerging
from the throne room behind them. She looked to be around the same age as Queen
Saski and wore a lavender gown decorated with pearls. In keeping with the
Ieflarian fashion, her long hair was in coiled braids. “I am Countess Amala of
Eiben, waiting lady to Queen Saski. Her Majesty has asked me to show you to
your new rooms.”

“Oh! Of course,” said Esofi, stepping
aside so Amala could take the lead.